


Shoot Shoot.... Bang Bang?

by Cranky_Tanky



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Misfire being himself, Pining, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, Pranks, Rung being emotionally unaware, Shoot-Shoot-Bang-Bang, Swerve being himself, but no actual spoilers, but no spoilers really, hinting at spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29224266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranky_Tanky/pseuds/Cranky_Tanky
Summary: Misfire and Swerve have been together for a few weeks now. But ever since they'd gotten on the ship, they've had a game with Rung, though Rung wasn't sure who the players were; a secret game of Shoot-Shoot-Bang-Bang, where they'd shoot him and make a break for it before he could find out who it was!Well, they get a little daring, and Rung finds out.
Relationships: Misfire/Swerve (Transformers), Rung/Misfire/Swerve
Kudos: 20





	Shoot Shoot.... Bang Bang?

**Author's Note:**

> yall omg this is literally my favorite rarepair yall don't understand i-

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“Shhh, you’re going to give us away!” Misfire giggled, putting his finger over Swerve’s lips. Swerve retaliated by gently biting it, and the jet snatched his hand away. “Ew,  _ stop! _ Okay, okay, shh, we gotta be quiet or he’ll hear us.”

“We’ve never done it from the vents before.”

“Look, just follow my lead and everything will be fine. On the WAP, we did this to Krok all the time,” Misfire reassured, trying not to giggle. Swerve was beaming too, and they both hefted their dart guns. Swerve’s had 3 scopes on them and a targeting guide. “You know having more than one scope probably doesn’t help, right partner?”

“It makes me feel better!” Swerve hissed, getting into position over the slats in the vent… just over Rung’s chair. Misfire readied his gun, too, peering down the scope through the wide slats. Swerve chewed on his fingertips of his free hand, vents peeked open to dump hot air as quietly as possible. “You go first.”

“Uh-huh,” Misfire mumbled, concentrating. His whole body was locked into Aiming Mode. Rung had been in the medibay for a while after the whole fiasco with the Matrixes and the Lunarians and what-have-you and Misfire didn’t really get it, but he also knew that it was high time to pick up where he and Swerve had left off, pranking the doctor to welcome him back. They hadn’t even come to see him yet about actually getting together since it had happened while he was recovering… he’d be delighted to know, Misfire bet! Once you cracked open his shell, Rung was such a great friend.

Misfire exhaled, gently, made sure the butt of the gun was snug against his shoulder, and moved his finger from the glossy plastic guard to the neon orange trigger. He took aim at Rung’s shoulderblades from where he was sitting at his desk, and pulled the trigger. The foam dart with its rubber suction cap flew from the gun with a  **_POP!_ ** and sailed straight down to ping Rung directly on the back of the head.

“Ouch!” Rung yelped, but didn’t even rub his head. Misfire had been hit by these darts more times than he could count, and so had Swerve -- they didn’t hurt. Rung jumped up, and turned around and around, crossing his arms, antennae jumping like mad. “Who did that? Really now... in my office! Is nowhere safe? I see you’re back to your old tricks, whoever you are, you… you  _ rascal!” _ The psychiatrist was fighting a smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up so much it looked like it hurt to keep a frown.

“Okay, c’mere,” Misfire whispered, gently putting his gun down and leaning over to help Swerve aim. He wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination, but Swerve was abysmal, and they couldn’t exactly bring My First Blaster along to these kinds of shenanigans, Brainstorm’s offer to modify it for dart capacity or not. “Yup, line him up… you got it… okay now shoot!” He patted Swerve’s shoulder gently. Swerve pulled his own trigger and managed to nail Rung directly in the spark casing. Misfire gasped, beaming. “Nice shot!”

_ “Hey!” _

“I was aiming for his leg,” Swerve laughed, nervous but giddy as he put a hand over his mouth. Rung’s head snapped up for him to stare straight into the vent slats, straining to see who it was.

_ “There _ you are!” he cried.

“Uh oh,” Misfire whumbled, voice halfway between a mumble and a whisper.

“Scram!” Swerve yelled, lunging over the vent to push Misfire back the way they came. They made a break for it, guns held in one hand as they scurried along through the vents. They could hear Rung’s shouting for them to  _ “get back here!” _ muffle as they crossed over the wall from his office to the hallway. They reached a vent that exited to the hall and popped it, jumping out to hit the floor and make a break for it. They’d just rounded the corner when Rung burst out of his office too, feet tapping on the floor as he sprinted after them.

“Come back here, you little fiends!” He shouted, laughter in his voice. “I’m going to empty those dart guns’  _ clips  _ at you when I get ahold of you! Did Whirl put you up to this? I -- ooh!” They heard his stride break and then he fell to the ground, sounding like he tumbled a little bit before rolling to a stop. “Oh, dear…”

“Rung!” Swerve cried, skidding to a halt and booking it back to the other direction,slipping around the corner and nearly breaking his knees in an attempt to kneel by Rung’s side. “Are you alright?”

Misfire jogged around the corner, admittedly a little nervous himself. Swerve had known Rung a lot longer, and… what if he was actually hurt?

Rung sat up, rubbing his head as his antennae drooped. He still had both darts stuck on him. “Oh, dear,” he mumbled, blinking. “My knees buckled. Guess I shouldn’t be running quite yet. And --  _ ah! _ So it  _ is  _ you two!” he shouted, accusatory, and then smiled a huge smile. “I’ll be!”

“Er, yeah,” Misfire just laughed sheepishly, letting his gun hang. Rung lunged to snatch it, and before Misfire or Swerve could so much as gasp, he took aim and emptied the clip of foam darts onto them both, hitting every target with a precise eye. Then, he dropped the gun, crossed his arms, and nodded smugly.

“There,” he announced, snickering. “I told you I would.”

Misfire just laughed, spark thundering. Swerve started laughing along too, his shoulders shaking, but Misfire noticed an odd note in it -- and before he knew it, Swerve’s face was crumpling and he buried it in his hands and started sobbing. “Woah,” Misfire said, hushed, and his sparkbeat took a decidedly icy turn with dread. “Woah, woah, what’s going on! What’s the matter, little buddy?” The magenta jet edged closer to put an arm over Swerve’s shoulder. “He’s not mad, see? You’re not mad, right?”

Rung shook his head, smiling gently as he closed his eyes. “I’m not mad, no. But Misfire, Swerve and I…” he started to explain, before Swerve interrupted.

“I was worried I’d hurt you again,” he bawled, snorting and sniffling into his hands.

“Woah, back up -- again?” Misfire looked Swerve up and down, brows pulling up. “What happened?”

“I never told you because I never talk about it,” Swerve mumbled, and Rung just let him explain, neutral expression on his face. “But way long ago, when we first got on this ship, after Delphi, um. I kind of shot Rung, in the head. By accident! But he almost died.”

“It was, admittedly, a little dicey for a moment or two,” Rung hedged, but Swerve cut him off.

“He was in the medibay for months with no head!” Swerve cried, hugging Misfire tight. “And then he was lights on, nobody home for longer!”

“I did get better,” Rung said, laughing a little uncomfortably. “Really, it’s all water under the bridge. I hold Rodimus more accountable than you -- he knew you were a bad shot.”

“Wait --” Misfire pulled away to look at Swerve. “Is that why you’re always nervous with Shoot-Shoot-Bang-Bang with Rung? Why didn’t you tell me you were anxious about something?”

“W-well,” Swerve hedged, snuffling, “Since it’s foam darts, and they don’t hurt, I can usually get over it… but when he tripped and fell and he’s just gotten out of the medibay I thought… I thought he might’ve really gotten hurt…”

“I’ll just let you two talk about this, shall I?” Rung said, gently, getting up and starting to walk away.

“No, wait!” Misfire cried, holding out a hand. “Um, come with us?”

Rung seemed to visibly deflate, but Misfire didn’t understand why. He just wanted to go get some drinks with Swerve and Rung in the bar after hours… maybe get this back on track. After all, misunderstanding over, and it was just a fun game, right?

“Of course, I can help with the discussion, if that’s what you would like,” he said, a little more neutral in the voice now. “But --”

“What? No, no,” Misfire waved away, confused. “Uh, you, me, little mans here -- drinks? We’d have the bar to ourselves.”

“Good heavens, is it already that late?” Rung seemed to take a moment to check on his HUD for the time, and then sighing. “I see. Well, I -- wait a moment. Did you say get drinks?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Rung’s head jerked back for a moment, and then he took his goggles off to squint at them and Misfire’s spark rammed its way up his throat to play Pong with his brain module. All of the jet’s vents opened at once to dump hot air and screamed, and he was sure his face was flushed. Rung’s eyes were…  _ gorgeous. _

“Oh, wow,” Swerve mumbled, with all the usual subtlety of Grimlock in a supply closet. He sniffled, once, but he wasn’t crying anymore.

Rung still looked frozen, trying to compute. “Well, I -- I, um…” he fumbled. “I must say, I wasn’t -- expecting… I wasn’t expecting --”

“Yes or no, Doc?” Misfire laughed, knowing social ineptitude when he saw it. Took one to know one.

“Well --” Rung laughed, a little, and oh Primus that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I -- well, yes! I’d be… uh, delighted!”

  
  


\------------------------------------------------

  
  


“And here we are,” Swerve announced, throwing open the doors to the bar and letting the other two in before closing them. “Lemme just open ‘er back up for business.”

“Oh, Swerve, you don’t have to open up the whole bar again just for us,” Rung insisted gently, rubbing the back of his head. His hand hit the foam dart still there as his antennae twitched once, and he made a soft “oh!” of surprise and plucked it off. He’d already gotten the one on his spark case, and Misfire was  _ still  _ picking darts off of himself. He’d taken care of Swerve first. “Really, if it’s too much trouble --”

“Nonsense!” Swerve cried, throwing his arms apart. He still felt pretty bad for bursting into tears and making Rung feel bad in the hallway. “It’s my bar and I get to choose the hours, so just sit your tuchuses down where ya like and Swerve’s will be back in business in just a sec. Go on, go on! Sit!”

“Well, alright.” Rung sat down at a table in a little alcove with a curved booth and scoped to sit by the wall, in the center of the curve. Each scoot was a little hop on the upholstery, as the cushions bounced him a little. “Misfire, would you like to sit next to me?”

“Would I?” Misfire laughed, sliding in next to him. “Shoot, don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Oh, stop.” Rung waved it away, laughing. Swerve flicked on the lights in the neon energon tanks for some mood lighting, and pulled out some glasses, as well as a few top-shelf bottles.

“What’ll it be, pardner?” Swerve called over to Misfire, expecting exactly what he would order.

“Shirley Temple!” Misfire cried, right on cue. Ever since Swerve had told him about those, the item by the same name Swerve offered was all he ever ordered. Swerve put some fizzy energon in a glass, then put some strawberry-flavored syrup in and some bismuth powder loosely packed into the shape of a cherry on top.

“One Shirley Temple, coming up,” Swerve announced. “Rung, how about you?”

“Oh, just an Old Fashioned for me, thank you. You’re too kind.”

“No way!” Swerve laughed, mixing the drink. “I love my job!” He brought both drinks over, and got himself a bottle of fizzy soda on the way. He sat on Rung’s other side and passed out the drinks. “Here ya go. Enjoy. Rung, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Rung said gently, smiling as he took a sip. “Delicious as always, Swerve.”

“Say,” Misfire said, nibbling on the bismuth cookie, “why don’t we play charades?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever played,” Rung said, softly, pink dusting his cheeks. “How would one play?”

“Well,” Swerve cut in, “you have to pretend to be something, and everyone has to guess what it is. You can’t give any hints, like trying to tell people what it is. They have to guess.”

“I’ve got an idea I’ll go first!” Misfire shouted, putting his drink down and jumping up to stand in front of the table. He bounced in place, shaking himself out.

“One of those weird balloon things in front of Earth car dealerships!” Swerve shouted, laughing.

“No, dummy, I haven’t started yet! Okay, um.” He leaned forwards and snatched a napkin off the table to poke two eyeholes it in, tucking it into corners of his helm so it would stay over his face. Then he poked his fingers upwards like helm chevrons and started posturing, turning his nose up as if he was being snooty.

“Someone smelling something they don’t like,” Rung offered, pinching his chin between his thumb and his index finger thoughtfully. His voice was soft, even as he was smiling in excitement with the game. His antennae flicked once, gently. Swerve glanced over at him and tried not to melt.

Misfire shook his head, giggling, and then got himself under control to start humming, trying to inject as much stuffiness in his voice as possible, it seemed. He puffed up his shoulders and held himself with the air of someone who looked like they really wanted Megatron to say, “good boy!”

“Oh, oh!” Swerve shouted, waving a hand. “Overlord!”

“Mm-nmm!” Misfire shook his head, and started humming louder, waving his hand to show that Swerve was sort of on the right track.

“Oh, er…” Rung hummed, tapping a finger to the corner of his mouth. Misfire almost stumbled in his humming, and Swerve sighed dreamily. Rung’s lips looked soft. “Oh, dear. This is a totally wild, wild guess -- Megatron?”

Misfire shook his hand again but waved, a little more frantically.

“Oh, an opera snob!” Swerve shouted, bouncing in his seat. God, he was so close, he was sure!

“Hmm!” Misfire hummed louder, nodding and waving along.

“Oh, oh!” Rung cried, pointing and beaming with “eureka” delight. “Tarn! It’s Tarn, isn’t it!”

“Yay, you got it!” Misfire laughed, taking the napkin off, and relishing in the cackles it got from his audience.

“Okay, my turn!” Swerve shouted, switching places with Misfire. Oh, he couldn’t think of a single thing. This wasn’t good. “Uh oh. Technical difficulties… give me a minute.” He thought, and thought, and thought… and then he had an idea.  **:Hey, Misfire. You wanna tell Rung we’re together?:**

**:Uh, now? We’re playing charades.:**

**:Yeah, exactly.:**

**:?? OH:**

**:Yeah. Mind if I use you as a prop?:**

**:Hell no, this’ll be great! I can’t wait to see his face.:**

Swerve beamed. “Okay! I’ve got an idea. Uh…” He leaned forwards and grabbed Misfire by the hand, pulling him out of the booth and then swinging their clasped hands together.

“Friends,” Rung guessed, smiling.

Both Swerve and Misfire shook their heads, and then reconsidered, glancing at each other and nodding. The wash of green, purple, pink, and blue light was the only lighting in the bar other than their biolights, and it reflected off of Rung so beautifully. He still hadn’t put his glasses back on -- they were on the table, forgotten.

“Oh -- lovers!”

Misfire giggled, and shook his head, waving it along. Swerve hummed brightly and swung their clasped hands a little harder.

“Two people in a relationship, then.”

**:Hey, Swerve.:** Misfire was outwardly busy nudging Rung along, so Swerve kept up the act too.

**:Yeah, partner?:**

**:I’ve seen you eyeing the psychbot as much as I’ve been. And I spoke to Ratchet the other day and he said that you’ve been doing it for a while.:**

**:Uh -- maybe!!!!:** Swerve tried not to blush, but he didn’t succeed very well.

**:Well, do you want a third?:**

**:But Misfire, you have the Scavs as well as me? That’s two polycules.:**

**:The Scavs and I have our own thing! Don’t worry about it, partner. Are you into Rung?:**

**:Well… yeah.:**

**:Are you into me?:**

**:Obviously!:**

**:Well there you go, I’m into you both too. Let’s ask him later.:**

Rung hummed, thoughtfully, antennae twitching in intense thought. His eye crinkles were more intense on one side than the other as he twisted his mouth in concentration. “Well, I just… I just don’t know.”

Misfire pointed between himself and Swerve. Their long shadows danced and jumped like the tanks’ lights were a flickering fire. It certainly felt warm enough in the bar for that.

“Yes, yes, two people in a relationship, I’ve got that --” Rung cut himself off mid-sentence and gasped, beaming as his bright blue, beautiful eyes blew wide.  _ “No!  _ You two --?”

“Yes!” Misfire burst out, jumping up and down. “Sorry, we would’ve told you earlier, but it only happened a few weeks ago!”

“No no, please,” Rung laughed out loud, getting up from the booth to give them both a hug. “I’m so happy for you both!” Misfire didn’t miss the tinge of disappointment in his eyes -- so that’s why he wore those goggles all the time, his eyes were  _ so  _ expressive -- but his beaming smile was huge. He sighed, and sat back down. “I’m so glad. I was hoping you two could express yourselves to each other!” He sighed again, and gingerly rubbed his chest before dropping his hand.

Swerve had been largely silent, bouncing from foot to foot, but he physically couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Soyeahbutdoyouwannabeourthird!” He shouted, almost as fuschia as Misfire’s plating.

Rung blinked, hand frozen on its way back to his chest. “I’m sorry?” he hedged, blinking.

“What Swerve is trying to say is --” Misfire giggled. “I heard you two had been eyeing each other up for a while, and -- well, I like you a lot too, i dunno if you feel the same way but that’s fine if you don’t, you don’t have to date me too -- and I guess what we wanted to say was -- would you wanna be our third?”

Rung’s jaw dropped, and his eyes blew wide again. “I --”

“It’s fine if you don’t!” Swerve rushed out, squirming in discomfort. “Sorry, sorry to ask --”

“No, no!” Rung’s face was quickly being overtaken by an uncontrollable smile, even as he rubbed over his chest again and his antennae twitched. “I -- I’ve never gotten an invitation of the kind before. To be clear, you -- want me to be your  _ romantic  _ partner? Both of you?”

“If you’d… like that,” Misfire asked, shyly.

“Oh goodness,” Rung laughed, covering the lower half of his face with his hands. It did nothing to hide the blush rapidly spreading and soon he was just as magenta as Misfire too. “Well, I -- I never! Yes, I would love to.”

Swerve let out a huge breath and slumped to sit down right on the floor, where he sighed again and fell backwards to starfish belly-up on the ground. Misfire and Rung just laughed at him, but Rung made a grunt and a face of discomfort and rubbed at his chest, yet again.

“Hey, you okay psychbot?” Misfire asked, stepping a little closer. “You’re rubbing at your chest a lot.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Rung brushed aside, smiling. “Just a little ache.”

“Hey, you should get that looked at,” Swerve said, suddenly serious as he picked his head off the floor. “Could be serious.”

“Really, I’m sure I’m fine,” Rung waved off, putting his glasses back on.

Misfire knew what was coming next, and patted Rung’s shoulder, cringing  _ for  _ him with a smile. “Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you me-”

Swerve hit Rung with the Puppy Dog Eyes. “Rung,” he whined, visor glinting. “Please? For me and Misfire? If it’s nothing then we don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh…” Rung mumbled, sweating a little. “....drat.”

“Told ya so,” Misfire laughed, helping him out of the seat. “It’s his secret weapon.”

“And what a dastardly use of it, as well,” Rung said, helping Swerve off the floor. “Oh, fine. As long as you both come with me.” He positioned himself between them and held their hands as they left the bar, with Swerve pausing to shut down the lights and lock the doors. An elevator ride up, and a few hallways down and they were standing outside the medibay, Rung having commed Ratchet that he was on his way to check something.

Swerve separated and Misfire did too. Then, Swerve gently took both of Rung’s hands in his own, and stood up on his tiptoes to kiss Rung on the forehead. He let go of one hand only for Misfire to immediately engulf it in both of his, and lean forwards to do the same, lingering for just a second. “Love you,” he mumbled, shyly. “P-partner.”

“Yes, you both as well,” Rung murmured, giggling timidly. “Thank you… Swerve. Misfire.”

“Hey,” Misfire joked, crossing his arms. “That’s Swervimus Prime and Pretendius Prime to you, bud.”

Rung burst into tittering laughter and leaned forwards kiss them both on the cheek. “Oh, is it?”

_ “What in the fucking hell?” _ A raspy voice cried out behind them, and both Swerve and Misfire turned around to see a wide-eyed Ratchet standing in the open medibay doors with a clipboard in his hand and a rust stick hanging out of his mouth.  _ “You three?” _


End file.
